


Musings of a Dying Man

by rthecynic



Series: Musketeer Musings [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, But I had my shipping goggles on to be fair, Major character death - Freeform, can be Porthos/Aramis friendship or more, if that isn't obvious by the title, whatever works for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-04-05 18:31:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthecynic/pseuds/rthecynic
Summary: It's the end of the line for one brave Musketeer





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Canaanation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaanation/gifts).



You’re not sure how long you’ve been here. Hours bleed into days, into weeks, perhaps even into months. You’ve been trapped in the darkness for so long that you fear the light. It hurts your eyes; those mere few rays you see when the door opens. When they come.

At first you fought back. You struggled and punched and kicked and bit; anything you could do to try and preserve yourself. Now you are too weak. You can barely lift your head, yet they still persist. Flurries of blows, cool steel against your skin that leaves burning fire in its wake. They ask nothing. Say nothing. They simply bring pain. 

A loud squeak draws your attention and you manage to lift your head, even if it is only a slight movement. Even if it sends the room spinning around you. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut, burning sunlight drawing an involuntary hiss of pain from your throat. Your visitor chuckles; you hear steady footsteps crossing the room towards you. You flinch, and silently curse yourself for it. When did you become so weak? So afraid?

Another soft snort from the other man and he speaks. 

“Not this time, Musketeer. Calm yourself.”

You’re surprised by the words. This is unusual. Maybe you’re in a worse state than you thought…

He sets a cup of water and a crust of bread beside you, but you don’t even bother to open your eyes. It seems too difficult. You’re so weak, they don’t even bother to restrain you anymore. They know you’re no danger to them. 

“My friends will come for me…” you rasp, as you do every day. You still believe it wholeheartedly. You believe it more than you have ever believed in anything. They would never leave you behind.

Yet, this time, the guard lets out a laugh; a loud and bellowing guffaw that strikes you to your very core. 

“Wake up, Musketeer! They’ve abandoned you!”

“Never!”

You muster up enough strength to spit on the man’s shoe. A moment later, a sharp pain shoots through your side and you gasp for breath. One arm wraps around your body; every breath you take is agonising. A hand fists in your hair and pulls your head back until your throat is tight and you are staring right into his eyes.

“You’re lucky we have orders to keep you alive, you piece of shit! Otherwise, you would never have made it this far!”

He lets your hair go and your head drops to your chest; violent coughs wracking your skeletal frame. When you draw your hand away from your mouth, your fingertips are stained pink. You smile.

“And, pray tell, who has ordered me kept alive? I fear I may not live to meet them.”

The guard swears under his breath, but quickly regains his composure.

“Fortunately, His Eminence returns from his state visit this evening. He will deal with you then. Perhaps more quickly than he had intended, but I trust it is the end result that he truly desires.”

Another kick to the ribs winds you and you crumple to a heap in the middle of the cold stone floor. You’re not too surprised by the revelation that passed the brute’s lips. You always knew that your insult to the Cardinal had already cost the life of an innocent woman. Perhaps it was only fair that your life should also be forfeit.

Yet, you wish you could live. You can’t stop thinking of everything you will be leaving behind. Young, hot-headed D’Artagnan, who you know will feel your loss greatly. Despite his tough exterior, you know the boy has a kind heart. He will mourn you. He will struggle to accept the loss. He has not experienced the realities of being a soldier yet, and you know this will be a rough awakening. 

Athos, you know, will blame himself. He always does. He will drink until he no longer feels his despair, and then he will drink some more. He will curse God on high and never forgive himself for his failure.

And Porthos…

You are pulled abruptly from your thoughts, startled by a loud clang of steel. It seems so close, yet so distant all at once. Voices all mix together in something of a rabble, screams of dying men are carried on the air.

The guard is as pale as death now, peering around the doorframe to watch the action unfold outside. He seems to hesitate before he makes a decision. A hand goes to his belt as he turns to approach you, drawing a dagger free. You watch him languidly. You know there is no use in trying to fight. Yet a smile graces your lips all the same.

“I told you…” you whisper and he sneers, dropping to his knees beside you. He presses his blade to your throat and you meet his gaze without fear.

“Do it. You’re only signing your own death warrant.”

He roars. A shot rings out. His lifeless body is shoved aside and you find yourself staring into familiar brown eyes. Warm and comforting, yet pained. Terrified. 

“Porthos…” you whisper, reaching a trembling hand to touch his cheek. “I-I knew you’d come…”

He tries to smile, but you can see the falsity of it. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and they themselves have lost their sparkle. 

“Yeah,” he grunts, reaching to place his hand over yours. “I’m here Aramis. I’m right here.”

“Then that’s all that matters…”

Another violent cough grips you and he gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You feel warm for the first time in what seems like forever. You feel safe. You are at peace.

“We’ll get you out of here,” he says, voice laden with determination. “It’s all gonna be alright, René. You’ll see.”

You shake your head, bloodstained fingers leaving marks on his face as you draw your hand away. 

“It’s too late…” you tell him. “I’m bleeding inside… I-I don’t have long…”

“We’ll find a way!”

“Porthos, please… Just… hold me…”

You smile at him. He is light and hope and redemption and you are ready to die. As long as he is with you.

“I am ready to be taken into the arms of the Lord…” you whisper, and you can see a single tear escape and run down his cheek, mixing with your blood. “Now that I have seen you one last time, I can go in peace.”

“You can’t leave me, René. Please…” 

It makes your heart clench to hear him so desperate. You wish you could promise him that it will be ok. You wish you could promise him the world. You can’t. 

“I’ll be alright…” you reassure him. “I-I’ll wait for you… All I ask is… please stay with me…? U-Until I am with God…?”

“Of course…”

He isn’t fighting anymore. His tears are flowing freely. You try to brush one away. 

“My dearest friend… Remember I will always be with you… Remember how I love you…”

“As I love you, Aramis…”

His lips gently touch your brow and you close your eyes, the effort to keep them open now too much to bear. You can feel the darkness caressing you like a soft blanket, calling you into sleep. The pain is fading, your heart is easing. Porthos’ sobs seem so distant now, his arms feel so light. You know you are slipping. 

One final, silent promise; _I will always be with you _– and you allow the darkness to carry you home.__


	2. Musings of a Broken Heart

When you were small, your mother used to tell you fantastic stories. Against the backdrop of the Court of Miracles, where the streets became alive at night and the noise made it difficult to fall asleep, she would weave tales of heroes and monsters and quests and adventures. One particular story sticks in your mind; the story of Achilles and his all-consuming rage. 

You never understood it when you were small. 

You always understood the motivations of your heroes; fame, glory, treasure, or a beautiful maiden to rescue. You always understood Achilles’ obsession with glory. What you didn’t understand was how a man who burned with such fiery intensity, who was a hero of his time, the most feared warrior in the Greek armies, could suddenly just… give up. How could a man who had once lived to fight, suddenly fight to die? You’d always known life was precious. There was so much wonder in the world; so much to explore and to enjoy and to love and to live for. How could one person mean so much to Achilles that his absence robbed a hero of his will to live? How could one person be so important that all light left Achilles’ life when he did?

Now you are older, and you think you understand.

Hours have blended into days, have blended into weeks, have blended into months. You still feel his blood on your hands, still think you sometimes hear his voice on the wind. Your rooms are cold and empty without him to fill them, without his smile to brighten your day and warm your heart. 

You are restless. You hardly eat, hardly sleep. There is a void in your heart and a sorrow in your soul. You had completed each other; fighting side by side as fluidly as one being, knowing each other perfectly, keeping each other safe.

But you failed.

You failed, and he paid the price. You couldn’t protect him, couldn’t reach him fast enough. All you could do was hold him and comfort him and watch as he took his last breaths. And how you’d cried. How you’d cried and sobbed and begged him to wake up, to come back to you. How you’d prayed and cursed and pleaded to God all in the same breath; 

How could You take him?!   
Give him back!   
Take me instead!

It was all for naught. He was never coming back and you knew it. You live with that knowledge every day, and it weighs heavy on your heart. Your friends try to comfort you, even as they carry their own burden of sorrow. Nothing helps. He is gone, and he will always be gone. Not even Athos and D’Artagnan can come close to filling to hole inside of you. They are not what you need.

You need vengeance.

After the funeral, the cardinal had immediately left Paris again, most likely fearing reprisal from the Musketeers for the murder of one of their own. With the Red Guards involved already killed in the skirmish, there was no proof against Richelieu himself, and you’d had to stand back and watch him walk away from this unscathed.

You can’t accept that.

For months, you have been fighting any Red Guard that crosses your path; furious and unrelenting, cutting them down without a care. In your mind, they are all guilty. They’ve all caused this. One thousand of their lives will never make up for what you’ve lost. But they are not your target.

He returned to Paris this morning.

This ends now.

You were never the best with a musket, that was his forte, but the cardinal has surrounded himself so heavily with guards that you know you will never get near him. 

You’ll only get one shot. 

You have to make it count.

As Cardinal Richelieu stands outside the palace, addressing the gathered crowd, you watch from the rooftops. You know what will happen to you if you do this.

You have no regrets.

You take aim, take a deep breath.

You fire.

Screams fill the air and you know your aim was true. You know that Cardinal Richelieu is dead.

You can both be at peace now.

You look towards the sky and you smile.

“It is done, René…” you whisper into the air. “Go in peace now. It is finished.”

You’re barely aware of the voices surrounding you as Red Guards flood onto the roof, guns drawn. They are shouting, commanding you to do something. You don’t care.

You manage to fire off one final shot before the musket balls begin to tear through your skin. It is agony and you almost think the barrage will never stop. You drop first to your knees, then fall to the side. You see the blood pooling underneath you. You know you don’t have long.

Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the sky, feeling the sun warm you for the first time since he left you. You smile.

“René…” you whisper again. “Aramis… I’m coming…”

You think you hear a voice on the wind. You think you hear your name. 

You close your eyes and feel everything around you fading away. The pain is becoming less intense, the ground beneath you doesn’t feel quite so solid. You know you’re slipping.

As your breathing starts to slow, as the last flickers of life die out within you, you hear it again. That voice on the wind. That voice that sounds so like his.

“Porthos… Rest now… It is done…”

You are still smiling as you take your last breath. Now you can finally be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally wrote the second part to this! So sorry for the long gap! I got a place in teacher training and it's been kicking my ass XD
> 
> But I finally have muse again, and I have so many ideas! It just depends whether I can actually get them down on paper, or screen as the case may be :P
> 
> So yeah, sorry for more sad, but what could you really expect from a follow-up to that? Next project is gonna be kinda bittersweet I guess, but happier than this!
> 
> You can catch me on tumblr at capitaineathos.tumblr.com, or I'm rthecynic on main! Feel free to send me prompts :)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is more angsty than I usually write, and I'm really sorry! ^-^"  
> I do have a planned second part to this from Porthos' POV if anyone is interested, and might even make it into a slightly longer "Musings" series of Porthos and Aramis' various meetings throughout time. I'm not entirely sure yet though! ^-^"
> 
> I can be found on tumblr on either rthecynic or capitaineathos. Hit me up if you want! :) Feel free to send prompts and stuff; it's summer and I'm bored!


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